Precious
by minachandler
Summary: "In that moment, I knew that I would do whatever I had to in order to preserve something… someone so precious." After Nyssa saves Sara for what feels like the umpteenth time in Nanda Parbat, Sara finally asks why. The answer she gets is unexpected, to say the least. First time Nyssara smut.


The bedroom of Nyssa al Ghul was larger than Sara expected. It was airy, decorated deep purple and gold, with two small doors thrown open, revealing a tiny balcony and a breathtaking view of Nanda Parbat that belied the darkness and violence she had experienced in the last few weeks.

Nyssa had insisted on bringing her up here after Sara had once again proven – with yet another faceless assassin dressed in League uniform – that she was not cut out to be a fighter. Her opponent had ended up landing a well-placed punch to her nose, and when she had fallen to the ground, helpless, the scratches on her cheeks from where they had grazed hard rock wept dark blood.

So Sara was led to Nyssa's quarters, where Nyssa immediately removed the uniform League armour that Sara had been wearing (she had previously resented having to wear it but now she was glad, because it had prevented her from sustaining more serious injuries) before steering her towards the large bed in the middle of the room.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to be here?" Sara asked now. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, which was higher than what she was used to and adorned with purple sheets that she was sure were made of silk. Nyssa placed a bowl of clean water at her feet, along with cotton buds, before straightening and going to close the doors to the balcony. The gesture assured Sara, gave her a comforting sense of privacy that she had rarely felt while in Nanda Parbat so far.

But she ignored Sara's question as she turned to face her, eyebrows raised. "Do I not get a thank you for stopping your assailant?"

"Of course you do," Sara replied, "but I don't want to – get in trouble."

Nyssa laughed, and it struck Sara that this was a rarity she was for some reason privy to. Since they had met, Nyssa had saved her, protected her, defended her, each time bestowing upon her a secret smile. But Sara had never seen Nyssa laugh like that before. "I am daughter of the Demon. I guarantee you will not get in trouble."

"Thank you," Sara said gratefully, reaching up to touch her own face and wincing when she felt the dried blood on her cheek.

"Careful," said Nyssa, picking up the bowl, wetting a cotton bud and gently tugging her hand away before she wiped away the residue of blood from her nose. Then she handed Sara a bud to hold to her nose, to staunch the bleeding, while Nyssa started cleaning the cuts on her cheek. She was cautious, dabbing along one side of the cut and then the other, and Sara was surprised it didn't sting more.

"I guess I need to be more careful," Sara said after a moment, and she was surprised when Nyssa shook her head.

"You are _too_ careful. That is the problem."

Sara bit her lip in pain when the next bud was a little too wet and she felt the cut burn on her cheek. Nyssa met her eyes apologetically, and Sara shook her head, the words "it's fine" on her tongue, but they died on her lips a moment later when Nyssa blew softly on her skin, and the kiss of her breath lessened the stinging feeling considerably. But what sent shivers down Sara's spine was the way Nyssa held her gaze, so steadily, the whole time… only for her to look away from Sara abruptly moments later.

"No," Sara said after a few seconds, dismissing whatever that was to the back of her mind, "the problem is that I fight like a girl."

"You say that like it is supposed to be an insult," Nyssa said, smiling slightly, "to yourself, no less, but it should in fact be considered a compliment."

Unexpectedly, Sara found herself smiling. "What do you mean?"

"Men are… egotistical," Nyssa declared, waving her hand dismissively. "The way they fight reflects that. They get angry easily and use that anger to lash out in quick spurts that are not easily sustained. It makes them predictable. Whereas… women know to use the element of surprise to their advantage. It is one of the many ways, much to my father's chagrin, that I consider females to be far superior to males."

"Your father doesn't seem to like me," Sara blurted before she could stop herself.

But Nyssa shook her head, holding out her hand, and Sara gave her the cotton bud. To her relief, the bleeding seemed to have stopped. "That is not true. He is simply… reserved towards you, for reasons that are entirely not your fault."

Nyssa placed the damp cotton buds on the floor, and at first Sara didn't even register the sudden change in Nyssa's expression – not until she lifted her hand to cradle Sara's cheek. And it was only now, too, that Sara realised that Nyssa was still half-kneeling before her, eyes locked with Sara's, the beginnings of a soft blush on her cheekbones, and that the couple of inches that usually separated them in height for once wasn't felt.

But then, again, just as suddenly, the spell was over, and the moment was broken as Nyssa got abruptly to her feet. Sara watched as Nyssa busied herself with disposing of the used buds, and she was silent when Nyssa headed to the small bathroom to pour away the water.

When she returned moments later, the colour that had suddenly entered Nyssa's cheeks seemed to have gone already. "You look healthier," she remarked, ignoring the curiosity surely written all over Sara's face from what she said. "You do not look nearly as skeletal as you did when I first found you on the shores of Lian Yu."

"I guess," Sara said. She didn't really notice the difference, herself. She had lost count of how many days or weeks it had been since Nyssa had commandeered her rescue, only that it had been a fair few.

And although being in Nanda Parbat was in many ways every bit as dangerous as her time on the freighter, at least she had a proper bed to sleep in here, warm food that she ate at an actual table (opposite Nyssa) three times a day that wasn't a badly cooked deer or pheasant. The League of Assassins, whatever Sara thought of their aims (and, truth be told, it wasn't as if she hadn't been helping killers – or torturers, for that matter – for the past two years already), was strict in their daily routine in that way.

Eyes still on Sara, Nyssa sat on the bed next to her, maintaining some distance so at least this time their legs weren't touching.

"You are hesitating," Nyssa said. It wasn't a question. The last few weeks had taught Sara that Nyssa was surprisingly astute, able to pick up on the tiniest shift in her emotions easily. "There is... something you want to ask."

Sara flushed. "I just... want to know why."

Briefly, Nyssa looked bemused, and she said, as though she were stating the obvious, "I deduced that you were in fact no match for al-Shabah, so I decided to call a halt to your training and –"

"No," Sara interrupted. "That's not what I meant."

The crease that had appeared on Nyssa's forehead cleared as it dawned on her what Sara meant. "I assume you are referring to when I found you on the island."

"Yeah."

Nyssa leaned back a little on the bed, resting on one arm. "Do you know what each and every person who is drawn to Nanda Parbat has in common?"

Sara wondered where this was going. "The fact that black seems to be everyone's favourite colour?" she said, and she was glad when Nyssa smiled at her attempt at a joke.

"Everyone here…" Nyssa said, and she gestured around her, "…every person who has decided to join the League, past and present, has started off in some way broken or lost. And, inevitably, they are weak, to begin with. Lonely."

Sara was surprised at how much Nyssa's words hurt. Here Sara had thought Nyssa's staunch and unrelenting protection of her was out of solidarity. Woman to woman. Sara scoffed to herself; it was obvious that the scary world of Nanda Parbat was no different from her time on the island or on the freighter. And just like Anthony Ivo, Sara now would always have to keep Nyssa's rescue in the forefront of her mind, simply awaiting the day Nyssa would use that against her. "So… you're saying you saved me because you pitied me?" Sara asked at last.

Her gaze dropped to her lap, and then she noticed Nyssa's hand had inched a little closer to where Sara's was lying on the bed. "Not at all." There was an unexpected softness in Nyssa's voice that made Sara look up. " _You_ are different."

"How?"

"Do you remember when I found you?" Nyssa asked instead of answering Sara's question, and the fact that Sara found this simultaneously infuriating and endearing just confused her even more.

"Bits of it," Sara lied, and it occurred to her now that this was the first time she hadn't told Nyssa the truth. And the truth was that she remembered every cold, dank, desperate moment of it – of feeling frozen down to her very bones, of the feeling that her head was going to split in two at any moment from the hunger and thirst, and – most of all – the relief that washed over her and blanketed her frail body when she felt soft hands (Nyssa's) gently dragging her away from the ocean and to safety.

"I asked you how long you had been drifting for," Nyssa said, "and you told me –"

"– that the sun had risen twice, so around two days," Sara said automatically.

"So you do remember."

"Bits of it," Sara repeated. "I was kind of out of it, really."

Still, it was obvious Nyssa could tell Sara wasn't being entirely truthful, so it surprised Sara when she suddenly felt Nyssa's hand on her wrist. Her touch was soft, calming, feather-light, the tips of her fingers – roughened from wielding the array of weapons Sara could see from the corner of her eye, no doubt – dancing briefly on her pulse point. "I remember," Nyssa said, "how I... was not even sure you were alive. Your pulse was weak... so weak that I doubted it was there at all. And that was when..." She paused, and Sara could feel Nyssa's hand close around her wrist this time. It was only then that Sara realised she was holding her breath, and she let it out in a short huff as Nyssa went on, "That was when I knew."

"Knew what?" Sara's voice was suddenly a whisper, for reasons she didn't even know, and she couldn't help but notice that the whole time Nyssa was talking, her gaze was anywhere but at Sara. At that moment, though, Nyssa looked up, meeting Sara's eyes, and there was something so solemn yet so earnest in the way Nyssa was gazing at her that Sara found herself reaching out with her other hand to touch Nyssa's arm. Her hand met the fabric of Nyssa's robe, so she pushed back the sleeve until at last skin met skin. And, truthfully, Sara wasn't sure why she was doing it, really, except that touching another human being for a reason unrelated to combat or nursing her back to health felt unexpectedly, gloriously wonderful, to the point that Sara didn't want to let go.

And Sara could tell that Nyssa didn't want her to let go, either, from way she closed her eyes at Sara's touch and spoke softly, melodiously, her words, long, slow, tinted by her unusual accent. "I knew that you had a fire inside you… that even though at any point in those two days you could have given up, chosen not to stay on that plank of wood and simply let the ocean take you, in other words succumb to an easy death, you… chose to live. What I saw in you was strength – extraordinary, beautiful strength that was absent in the people surrounding me – and in that moment, I knew that I would do whatever I had to in order to preserve something… some _one_ so precious."

Sara couldn't stop her eyes from widening when she said that. Never before had someone said something like that to her with such unabashed sincerity. More than that, though - never before had someone said that so selflessly... without expecting a single thing in reciprocation.

She couldn't say anything if she tried. Once again, Sara could feel her breath catch in her throat when, unexpectedly, Nyssa lowered her mouth to Sara's hand and pressed a chaste kiss on the inside of her wrist before looking up at her. That same sincerity was still in Nyssa's eyes, Sara could tell, but was something else, too – a kind of trepidation, as if Nyssa was waiting to see if Sara would push her away. Sara opened her mouth several times, trying to speak but unable to, all the while refusing to release the grip she had on Nyssa's hand.

For the longest time, the two women simply gazed at each other while the air thickened around them, until finally Sara couldn't bear it anymore; she reached up and kissed Nyssa on her lips, unable to take it a second longer, and she actually felt the hum of Nyssa's sigh when their lips met.

Sara had only once kissed a girl before. She'd forgotten how good it felt – Nyssa's hair was silky between her fingers as they tangled through, all the way to where her hair met her shoulders, before Sara's hands settled around Nyssa's face, cupping her cheeks. And though at first Sara could feel Nyssa's hesitance, it only took a few seconds for her arms to snake around Sara's waist, pulling her closer until Sara could feel the beat of Nyssa's heart against her own chest, the rapidness of her breathing and the soft curve of her breasts on Sara's.

It was only when Sara's hand began trailing downwards, though, that she felt Nyssa pull back. And for the first time since their lips had touched, their eyes met, and Sara found herself unable to tear herself away from Nyssa's gaze.

"Nyssa…" Sara whispered, and she savoured the way her name tasted on her tongue, which darted out briefly to wet her lower lip. That was all Nyssa needed, it seemed, though, to kiss her again, even more ardently than before, so much so that her moan was felt in the back of Sara's throat, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine.

"Sara," Nyssa murmured against Sara's lips, and even now, Sara could see Nyssa's hand tremble a little as she reached for Sara's cheek. "Are you… is this… what you want?"

Sara didn't answer for a good few seconds, instead letting her hand settle on Nyssa's thigh. "That depends," Sara said eventually. It was like Nyssa read her mind, though.

"I do not pity you," she said. Immediately, Sara let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. "I have not protected you, defying orders from some of my father's most trusted men and sometimes from my father himself, out of sympathy."

"Then why?"

But Nyssa just smiled, smiled and leaned in, kissing her softly – so softly – on her lips. And then her mouth travelled down, slowly, until she was kissing Sara's neck and Sara could feel the tip of Nyssa's tongue moisten the hollow of her throat. "Ana uhibbuki."

And for once, Sara didn't need to meet Nyssa's eyes because the soft vowels mouthed into Sara's skin and the way Nyssa's lips moved to form each sound required no translation. Instead, Sara pushed a little at Nyssa's shoulders until she was lying back on the bed before kissing her again, and it seemed the suddenness of her move caught Nyssa by surprise because she smiled unexpectedly against Sara's lips. But just seconds later, as Sara's hand moved down, beneath the skirt of Nyssa's robe and – daringly – finding the inside of her thigh, Nyssa let out an involuntary moan, grabbing hold of the back of Sara's neck so Sara's lips crashed onto hers.

Still kissing her, Sara tried again, this time slipping her finger into Nyssa's panties, and it was Sara's turn to moan now, right into Nyssa's mouth, because her finger was suddenly so wet, and Sara realised at the same time that the material of her own underwear was just as soaked. And part of her wondered briefly if she was doing it right (was there even a _right_ way to do it?) but mostly she was encouraged by the sounds Nyssa was making just with that one finger hovering at her entrance and the way Sara gently nipped Nyssa's bottom lip with her teeth.

Even then, Sara paused, pulling back, running the thumb of her free hand across the edge of Nyssa's cheek and looking down at her, blonde hair falling to tickle Nyssa's neck.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sara asked, and her hand was now still, but her knuckles were still brushing lightly against the wetness of Nyssa's centre. Nyssa immediately shook her head, yanking down her panties so they were off her hips and tangled around her ankles before kicking them off and reaching up to place a kiss on Sara's jaw. At first, Sara was careful, slow, sliding just the tip of her finger inside.

"You know I've never done this before, right?" Sara asked, her hand stilling momentarily, and she could feel Nyssa's thighs clench around her.

"So?"

"So you'll… tell me if I do something wrong, right?"

Nyssa didn't answer, instead closing her hand around Sara's wrist. She arched her back encouragingly, and Sara moved further in, landing kisses on Nyssa's neck, two fingers in her centre now, touching, exploring, and Nyssa was whimpering now, letting out a soft stream of Arabic that Sara could not fully comprehend.

But she didn't stop, not even when she recognised the throbbing bud beneath her fingers and pressed down, making Nyssa cry out. Sara did it again, kissing her lips and once again feeling the warm hum of Nyssa's moan in her own throat. "Ya Saa-ra," Nyssa whispered. There was something inexplicably beautiful about the way Nyssa gently hissed Sara's name, elongating each syllable, as if it were a reverent supplication that she savoured on her tongue. And as Sara felt Nyssa's body shudder beneath her own, she realised that she had never witnessed another woman climax before, never felt that wet heat drip over her hand or wrapped her fingers over her entrance, but that somehow nothing felt more familiar to her. Sara didn't stop, continuing to move her hand between Nyssa's thighs until Nyssa's body finally stilled beneath hers. And when Nyssa opened her eyes, the smile that she bestowed upon Sara was unlike any other smile she had seen grace Nyssa's lips before – a spent, beautiful smile that met her eyes, still slightly dazed by her orgasm.

It was only now, though, that Sara became more aware of the growing ache in her groin, and it seemed Nyssa sensed it too, because moments later – with a surprising amount of strength – Sara was on her back, feeling the silk of the sheets beneath her, and Nyssa was straddling her waist. And there was something incredibly arousing about the way Sara's clothing was being dampened by the movement, something that made Sara thrust her hands into Nyssa's hair and kiss her wildly. Nyssa kissed her back, just as ardently, her hand moving to cup Sara's breast through her bra; she huffed a sigh of frustration when Nyssa moved away, though, but it didn't take long for it to become a gasp when Nyssa climbed down Sara's body, pushing up her shirt to expose her stomach.

Sara watched, breathless, as Nyssa pressed a kiss on the tiny birthmark on her belly, and she let Nyssa pull down her pants, running the backs of her fingers against the damp cotton of her panties. At the same time she was kissing her way down Sara's stomach, her mouth open, so Sara could feel the scrape of Nyssa's teeth against her skin – moistened by the trail her tongue was leaving – until she reached Sara's belly button. That was when Nyssa looked up, met Sara's eyes, asking wordlessly for permission, and Sara leaned forward, straining a little with the effort, to kiss Nyssa in answer. They both laughed when Sara misaimed and her kiss landed on Nyssa's chin instead, but then Nyssa pushed gently at Sara's shoulders, making her lie back so she could resume from where she left off, kissing her way down Sara's navel.

Then Sara felt Nyssa's nails rake her hips as she pulled down her underwear, before her tongue encircled Sara's entrance, immediately making Sara grab a fistful of the purple sheets. Nyssa took her time, kissing, licking, her tongue barely even inside Sara and yet still managing to set her heart alight in a way she had never even thought was possible – so when, at last, Nyssa's mouth found Sara's clitoris, Sara barely registered the way Nyssa's hand was anchored on her breast or the fact that her other hand was planted firmly on Sara's bare hip, not to mention the fact that her clothes were sticking to her with sweat. She found herself arching into Nyssa's mouth, moaning loudly and rocking her hips forward, and when Nyssa sucked down on that spot, that was all Sara needed to be pushed over the edge.

As Sara became lost in her climax, Nyssa stroked Sara's hips, her movements slow, steadying, not moving her mouth an inch, and even when Sara's breathing began to slow, Nyssa was still pressing kisses on and around Sara's entrance, her tongue occasionally darting out to catch the moisture still pooling from her centre.

Sara still felt lightheaded when at last Nyssa joined her by her side, and it only occurred to her now that they were both still half-clothed. But it was okay. They had time, to touch, to kiss, to explore.

"Ana uhibbuka," Nyssa murmured again, after a long, breathless kiss. "Ana uhibbuka, ya habibti."

And though Sara never thought it was possible for her to find someone to say those words to again – certainly, she did not think it possible for anyone to want to say it to her – for the first time in her life, she really, truly meant it when she whispered back, "I love you too."

Maybe Nanda Parbat wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
